


mes rêves interdits me font mal (eng. version)

by feuilleverte



Category: Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, constance said gay rights, mozart is a flirty lil shit, salieri gets the hug he deserves, salieri is a gay mess, warning: he has a little bit of a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feuilleverte/pseuds/feuilleverte
Summary: “Are you trying to prove something by getting to know me, Mozart? Do you think no one can resist you?”“I’m just trying to understand you, Salieri. Usually, people either hate me or love me. But with you, it feels like a little bit of both, and it confuses me.”Or, Mozart spends a night at Salieri's and it doesn't go as planned. Or does it?
Relationships: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart/Antonio Salieri
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	mes rêves interdits me font mal (eng. version)

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [mes rêves interdits me font mal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25786297) by [feuilleverte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feuilleverte/pseuds/feuilleverte). 



> Hello! Thanks for clicking on this fic! I originally posted it in French and then translated it c:  
> I hope you enjoy it!

Once again that night, Antonio Salieri was sat at his piano, trying desperately to finish writing his new piece. Notes were floating around in his head, but disappeared before he could write them down. Like always, he was going in circles, without composing anything he liked, as if everything was off-key. Feeling tired, he got up to add wood in the fireplace, and to stretch his legs. He had to finish composing tonight, he had lost too much time doubting. Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the knocks on his door. He froze, waiting to be sure of what he had heard, and after a few seconds he heard the knocks again. Surprised to have a visitor this late at night, he walked to the door, but didn’t open it.

“Who’s there?”

A voice he knew all too well answered from the other side of the door.

“Salieri? It’s me, Mozart.”

Salieri froze. A visit from Mozart was the last thing he needed right now. He never knew how to behave with him. Since they had met, Salieri had been nothing but rude with Mozart, and yet the young composer was always friendly with him. The whole thing was very destabilising, and made Salieri feel things he really couldn’t allow himself to feel. He had tried to ignore those feelings but they always came back, tormenting him and keeping him from composing anything good. He hesitated for a few seconds and opened the door. It was pouring outside, and Mozart was stood in front of him, trying to protect himself with his coat above his head. Even then, he was soaked from head to toe.

“What brings you here this late at night, Mozart? And under such a weather?”

“I need your help, Salieri.”

He looked up and Salieri felt his heart miss a beat. Truly, Mozart made him feel things so intensely it frightened him.

“Madame Weber kicked me out of her inn, where I was staying. She told me tonight and I didn’t know where to go. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could I stay here tonight? Please?”

Salieri took a moment to register everything.

“Come on, Mozart… Isn’t there another inn that could help you? I mean, what would people say if we slept in the same house?”

A look of disappointment washed over Mozart’s face, and Salieri felt his heart tighten.

“I understand. Sorry for bothering you. Good night, Salieri.”

Mozart smiled meekly and turned around. Salieri was instantly filled with regret. If he wanted to improve his relationship with Mozart, surely this wasn’t the way to do it. But then again, why come to him instead of asking one of his friends? Mozart had a lot of them, and Da Ponte or Stephanie surely would have agreed to help him. He started closing the door but noticed that his coat was slightly wet: a few seconds had been enough for the rain to get to him. Feeling more and more guilty at the thought of leaving Mozart outside in that weather, he decided to go after him just before he disappeared at the end of the street.

“Mozart!”

The composer turned around, a look of surprise on his face.

“Come, you’re going to catch a cold.”

A smile lit up Mozart’s face, and made Salieri feel warmer than the fireplace had managed to do all evening. They walked back together to Salieri’s house, and soon Mozart was sat in front of the fire, with dry clothes on ( _Salieri’s clothes_ ), a warm blanket on his legs, and a hot cup of tea in hand.

Salieri sat down on the couch, facing Mozart.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.”

Mozart smiled again, and it was truly unfair how such a small thing could make Salieri’s heart beat so fast. Salieri being a little taller than Mozart, the clothes looked a little big on him, but he didn’t seem to mind.

They stayed silent for a while, neither of them knowing how to pick up the conversation. For both of them, this was an unusual situation. They had never been alone together, and especially not alone on a couch inside one of their houses.

Despite the silence, the atmosphere didn’t feel awkward. Mozart seemed lost in thought, eyes closed, probably thinking about his next composition (Salieri had learned that he never stopped composing), and Salieri was enjoying the fact that Mozart had his eyes closed and was staring at him, studying every aspect of his face, amazed by how handsome he looked.

Mozart suddenly opened his eyes.

“I’ve got it!”

His gaze met Salieri’s, who pretended he hadn’t been staring at him for a few minutes.

“What?”

Mozart smiled proudly.

“I found how to end my opera!”

He looked over at the piano in the corner of the room, that same piano where Salieri had lost so much time trying to write music.

“May I play it for you?”

Salieri gulped as the memories of the first time he had heard Mozart’s music came back to him. That day, during rehearsals for The Entführung aus dem Serail, when La Cavalieri had started singing… Salieri hadn’t know peace since that day. But now at least, he could try to prepare himself for the emotions he was about to feel again.

“Go on.”

Mozart got up from the couch, almost tripping on his oversized clothes, and sat down at the piano. He breathed deeply, trying to focus, and let his hands slip on the keys. Immediately, Salieri knew that trying to control his emotions was going to be harder than he anticipated. The music seemed to pour directly from Mozart’s soul; he was playing with his eyes closed, without any sheet music, and seemed to feel his music with an intensity that was bigger than him. Salieri was watching him closely, fascinated, but eventually closed his eyes too, overwhelmed by the beauty of Mozart’s music. All of the emotions felt more intense, due to the softened atmosphere of the room, but also due to the fact that Mozart was playing only for him, and that he was the first to hear this piece.

Mozart kept playing for a few minutes, and his music filled the room. Salieri wished he would never stop, and already knew it was going to be hard for him to pretend to hate Mozart after that.

The young composer hit the last key, and lifted his hands from the piano as delicately as he could. Silence came back to the room, only disrupted by the crackling of the fire.

“Well, maestro? What do you think?’

Salieri opened his eyes and tried to think of an answer, but no words could have matched the emotions he had just gone through. Should he try to maintain an unreadable face, like he did the last time Mozart asked him how he liked his music? Could he be sincere? It felt to him like every positive remark towards Mozart could be perceived as a revelation of his true feelings for the composer, and it terrified him. He turned his head to look at Mozart and saw that he was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Well? Was it _that_ bad?”

“Not at all, Mozart… I can’t find my words.” He sighed, and decided to go with honesty. “It was absolutely magnificent, like the rest of your music. You’re extremely talented, and the way you share your emotions in your music moves me.”

He stopped, before pouring all of his heart out. He had to be more careful if he wanted to keep an ounce of dignity. He was starting to regret being that sincere, but one look at Mozart convinced him he had made the right choice. The composer was still sat at the piano, a hand on his heart, looking filled with emotion.

“Salieri… Your words go straight to my heart. With the way you have acted in the past, I was starting to believe that nothing I could ever play would be enough for you. But you do have emotions after all.”

Mozart smiled, and Salieri made an offended face.

“Were you doubting it?”

“You show them so little, mon ami. It makes you quite hard to understand, but it also makes you charming, I have to admit.”

Feeling more flustered than ever, Salieri focused to keep a straight face, even if he could feel his ears slowly turning red. He decided to come back to a less slippery slope: he wanted Mozart to keep talking about himself, before Salieri could say something he would regret.

“Can I ask you a more personal question, Mozart?”

“Go on.”

“Why did Madame Weber kick you out of her inn? I had heard you were getting along quite well with one of her daughters.”

Mozart winced, and Salieri feared he had crossed a personal threshold, but he didn’t take long before answering.

“Ah yes, that was the problem… She wanted me to marry Constance, but… I love someone else, Salieri. And even though it’s very unlikely that I’ll get to marry that someone one day, I can’t help but hope for it. My heart doesn’t belong to Constance. We get along well, but I don’t want a romantic relationship with her. Madame Weber got angry, called me a lot of rude names, and asked me to leave before I could hurt her family even more. And here I am.”

Obviously, Salieri’s thoughts immediately went to Aloysia, Constance’s sister, who Mozart had loved, but who had gotten married to another man. Surely, she was that other person Mozart loved.

“I’m sorry for you, Mozart. I hope you and your loved one can be happy one day.”

“Thank you, mon ami. I will do my best to make it happen.”

Another moment of silence came. Then Salieri went back for another question.

“I have another question, if you’ll let me.”

Mozart answered with a nod and a smile.

“Why come here? Why didn’t you look for another another inn, or ask one of your friends, like Da Ponte or Stephanie?”

Mozart chuckled before he answered.

“I thought this would puzzle you. It might seem spontaneous, but I thought it through, Salieri. First, I didn’t look for another inn because I didn’t want to explain why I couldn’t stay at Madame Weber’s anymore. And as for my friends, I’m sure they would have let me stay with them, but both of them live on the other side of town, you were the closest from the inn. And, most importantly...” He paused before continuing his answer. “I wanted to see you outside of the busy life of the court, see who you truly are, without you having to be careful about everything you do or say.”

Salieri remained speechless for a while. So Mozart was thinking of him in his spare time?

“Are you trying to prove something by getting to know me, Mozart? Do you think no one can resist you?”

“I’m just trying to understand you, Salieri. Usually, people either hate me or love me. But with you, it feels like a little bit of both, and it confuses me.”

Again, Salieri didn’t know what to answer. Had he been so obvious with his feelings that even Mozart had noticed how troubled they were? Before he could answer, there was another knock at the door. He shot an apologetic glance at Mozart and got up to see who it was. For his second surprise of the evening, Constance Weber was standing there, safely secured under an umbrella, holding a bag. Salieri bowed.

“Mademoiselle Weber.”

Constance bowed back.

“Maestro Salieri. My apologies for this late visit, but I have to know: is Mozart here?”

Salieri was unsure of what to say: could he trust Constance? What was she going to tell her mother? What would she think of him if she saw him sharing a house with a man? Before he could answer, he felt a hand on his back pushing him aside gently, and Mozart appeared next to him.

“Constance!”

“Wolfgang!”

They embraced, and Salieri went back inside, but stayed behind the door.

“I came to bring you everything you left at the inn. I am truly sorry about how my mother behaved, I tried to reason with her but you know how she is...”

“I know it’s not your fault, Constance. Don’t worry for me.”

“I hope we can still see each other, even if the circumstances are different. And I wish you happiness.”

“Thank you, Constance. I wish you the same.”

Salieri was starting to regret having stayed behind the door instead of giving them some privacy, and then the door moved again and Mozart was back inside, bumping into him when he closed the door.

“Salieri! You were there?”

“I apologize, Mozart. I shouldn’t have listened to you, it was impolite.”

“That’s alright, mon ami. Constance only brought me my clothes. Nothing was said that you shouldn’t have heard.”

Mozart smiled and Salieri move to let him inside, and then closed the door after him. This conversation had raised questions in his mind: what relationship did Mozart and Constance have? Why did she know he would be here? He turned to Mozart and saw he was sat on the ground next to the fire, probably cold again after having been outside. He went to add more wood in the fireplace, and sat on an armchair.

“May I request something of you, Salieri?”

The Italian man turned his head and nodded.

“Could you play your music for me? I saw your notes while I was sat at the piano, and I would love to hear what you were composing.”

Salieri tensed up. Playing his unfinished piece in front of Mozart, whose music felt perfect? He would laugh at him, Salieri was certain.

“Those were nothing but drafts, Mozart, I am far from being done...”

“I know! That’s why I want to hear it! So when I hear the finished piece, I’ll know what you changed!”

Salieri’s brain was screaming at him to say no, but Mozart was looking at him in a way that made it impossible to refuse. He sighed and went to sit at the piano. He put his hands on the keys and immediately, all his intrusive thoughts came back: can’t compose, nothing sounds good, not enough… He closed his eyes, trying to ignore them, but they were overwhelming him. His hands were shaking and he couldn’t bring himself to play the first chord.

“Is everything alright, Salieri?”

Salieri opened his eyes to see Mozart staring at him with a look of worry. He then realized that his breathing had gotten faster, and yet it felt like no air was getting into his lungs.

“Just a minute, please.”

He got up and stumbled to the front door. He grabbed the door handle and opened it as quick as he could, trying to breathe the cold night air. He closed the door behind him, not wanting Mozart to follow him. He leaned against the door and tried to calm his breathing. Why did the simple act of playing make him feel like this? Why couldn’t he refuse anything to Mozart? Why was he suddenly unable to play anything good? And why was Mozart so caring, when Salieri had been nothing but rude, over and over again?

All these thoughts were making him light-headed, and he would have fallen if he hadn’t crouched. So, there was the great maestro Salieri: pathetic, alone, talentless, not good enough, unable to listen to his heart for once in his life.

He tried to hold them back but to no avail: the tears came, mixing with the rain on his face.

Behind him, he suddenly felt the door open, and he had to hold the wall to not end on the floor.

“Salieri? Are you alright?”

In front of him, Salieri could see Mozart’s shadow reflecting in the puddles, and then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Salieri, you’re going to catch a cold...”

The composer suddenly noticed how wet his coat had become when he had crouched down into a puddle. Maybe he could pretend the water on his face was rain as well? He breathed in, swallowing his last tears, ran a hand across his face, and stood up slowly, still holding the wall. Mozart’s hand was still on his shoulder, barely there and yet it was all he could feel. He raised his head and looked at him.

“You wanted to see who I truly was, Mozart?”

And for once, Mozart was speechless. He removed his hand from Salieri’s shoulder to put it around his waist, and he brought him inside before closing the door again. Once they were inside, he led him towards the couch, still holding him, and once they were sat, he wrapped him in the same blanket he had on his lap minutes before. Salieri was too tired to resist or to think about how ridiculous everything was. He had stopped thinking when Mozart’s arm had wrapped around him, amazed by how easily Mozart had brought him closer.

And now, Mozart was sat beside him, and had removed his hand. He looked terribly worried and made Salieri feel awfully guilty.

“Do you want to talk about it, Salieri?”

“I’m not sure there’s a lot to say, Mozart.”

“Does it happen a lot?”

Salieri sighed. Talking about his problems with Mozart was not at all how he thought his evening would go. Mozart looked so worried that all he wanted to do was lie, tell him he was alright, but he was starting to wonder if being honest would make him feel better. Before he could answer, Mozart spoke again.

“I’m sorry if my questions are making you uncomfortable, Salieri. I’m just trying to understand.”

“I don’t want you to worry. It was just a dizzy spell.”

“The way you reacted made it look like you were used to them.”

Mozart was still looking at him, but even with all his good intentions, Salieri just could not tell him why he felt that way.

“I’m fine, Mozart.”

Maybe if he said it enough, he could convince himself, too? The young composer didn’t seem to believe him, but understood that Salieri didn’t want to say more.

“I’m sorry I pushed you to play for me when you weren’t ready. I enjoy your music so much that I was excited to hear something new.”

Salieri turned to him, skeptical.

“ _You_ like my music?”

Mozart looked back at him, confused.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Salieri smiled sadly.

“Why should you care about my music when yours is so much better?”

Mozart’s eyes widened.

“So that’s what’s been worrying you! Salieri, I can assure you that I find your music magnificent! I love hearing you play, and the emotions you put in your music always move me!”

Salieri was speechless. Had he heard that correctly? Surely, Mozart was being nice to him just to make him feel better. But he had his hand on his heart again, like he did every time he felt strong emotions. Looking at him was almost too much to handle, and Salieri had to hold back tears again.

“Thank you, Mozart. Your words go straight to my heart.”

The young composer smiled at him, relieved to have understood part of Salieri’s worry.

“Do you know what comforts me when I’m feeling sad, Salieri?”

“What?”

With no hesitation, Mozart came closer and took Salieri in his arms. The Italian man immediately froze, thoughts racing. Mozart was holding him. He was being held by a man. Mozart wanted to comfort him. _Mozart was holding him._

“I won’t let you go, Salieri.”

His emotions could be heard in his voice and in this moment, he was far from being the provocative composer everyone knew. Overwhelmed by emotions, Salieri felt a few silent tears escape from his eyes, and after a few seconds, he put his arms around Mozart and held him too, trying to say through their embrace everything he couldn’t say out loud. A few moments passed, and Mozart slowly lowered his arms. Immediately, Salieri was caught by reality again, and felt ridiculous for having shown weakness. But Mozart put his hand on his and his thoughts stopped again.

“Are you feeling better?”

Salieri looked at their hands, and then at Mozart, trying to keep calm.

“I am. Thank you.”

The smile that appeared on Mozart’s face made his heart jump. Yes, he truly did feel better when Mozart was next to him.

“However, I am exhausted.”

Mozart nodded.

“Of course. I’ll let you go to bed. I’ll sleep on the couch, don’t worry for me. Good night, Salieri.”

Just before letting go of Salieri’s hand, Mozart raised it to his lips, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

Salieri felt a blush come to his cheeks, and he noticed that Mozart’s face had turned the same shade. After taking his hand back, he got up and went to his room, before carefully closing the door. As soon as he was alone, all his emotions came back: he had shown weakness in front of Mozart, and instead of mocking him, the young composer had worried and helped him, like… a friend? Was it usual for friends to embrace and hold hands? The thought of that moment made Salieri blush again. Maybe it was just a normal thing people did in Vienna? A part of his heart was trying to tell him that maybe Mozart felt the same way Salieri did, but he refused to listen to it. Surely, he had to have other reasons. He changed into his night clothes and went to bed, which felt cold in comparison with Mozart’s arms. What a night…

***

He didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he suddenly woke up screaming. He was sat in his bed, sweating as the memories of his nightmare came back to him. He had them quite often, but this one had been particularly bad. He ran a hand across his face, trying to brush off his nightmare, when his door slowly opened.

“Salieri? Are you alright?”

“Mozart? You’re not sleeping?”

The young composer stayed close to the door, not wanting to walk in a pitch-dark room.

“I heard you scream and… you screamed my name.”

Salieri’s eyes widened. Being usually alone, he never had to worry about what his nightmares made him do.

“I’m sorry. It was just a nightmare.”

He heard Mozart moving around the room, and then felt a weight on his bed, showing him that the young composer was sat on it.

“Do you have them a lot?”

Salieri sighed. He was too tired to pretend to be fine, which was exactly why he usually never let anyone get that close to him.

“Sometimes, but not more than anyone else, I suppose. Don’t worry about it.”

The weight shifted on his bed and he felt Mozart coming closer to him, until he felt his hand grab his own.

“Salieri, you’re freezing.”

He paused and then asked, with a surprised tone.

“Did you give me your own blanket?”

Salieri nodded, before remembering they were in total darkness.

“I… Yes, I did. I didn’t think about it, and I wasn’t cold before falling asleep, but yes, you have my blanket.”

Mozart put his hand on Salieri’s arm, and then he got up.

“Just a minute.”

He moved, feeling his way along the room and trying to not knock anything down. He went back to the living room, came back with the blanket and put it around Salieri’s shoulders.

“Mozart, now you’re going to be cold...”

Mozart laughed softly.

“I don’t care. It’s your house, I can’t steal your blanket.”

An idea was starting to sprout in Salieri’s brain, and it felt crazy but very tempting. He breathed deeply and opened his mouth before he could change his mind.

“You know, Mozart, this blanket is big enough for both of us to fit under it.”

Mozart didn’t answer for a while, and Salieri got scared he had gone too far, but then he felt the weight on his bed again, and Mozart was sat next to him again, a hand on Salieri’s arm.

“Nothing would make me happier, Salieri.”

Trying to ignore his beating heart, Salieri laid down in his bed and felt Mozart do the same. None of them dared to move. After a while, Salieri felt Mozart’s arm coming closer to him.

“Salieri, will you allow me to hold you once more?”

As an answer, the Italian man grabbed Mozart’s hand and pulled him closer. The young composer placed himself right behind Salieri and put his arms around his waist, holding him close. Salieri’s last doubts were disappearing one by one: surely, friends were not supposed to act like that. Then it would mean that Mozart… No, even with all the evidence there was, Salieri’s brain couldn’t wrap around the idea. Then Mozart rested his head on Salieri’s shoulder, and there was no room for doubt anymore: they would have a chat in the morning. Salieri sighed, trying to relax, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Mozart’s arms around him, his breathing on his neck: everything felt intense, out of place… and yet he couldn’t remember ever feeling better. He closed his eyes and finally fell back asleep.

***

When he woke up the next morning, the sun was already entering through the windows. The curtains blocked part of the light, making it not too bright and perfect for mornings. Salieri turned around in his bed and his heart missed a beat when he saw Mozart asleep next to him. The memories of the night before came back to him, and he couldn’t help but smile when he thought that maybe, the other man shared his feelings. But he was also terrified, and had no idea how to talk to him about their feelings, or what to do if a relationship was to start between them. He shivered and pulled the covers back up. Mozart was turned towards him, his eyes closed and his breathing peaceful. His hand was between the two of them, palm up, and Salieri was very tempted to put his own hand in Mozart’s. He knew that as soon as the day would start, he would lose what little confidence he had during the night. He thought about it for a few seconds and then gently put his hand on Mozart’s. As soon as his hand was put, Mozart’s hand immediately closed to hold Salieri’s, which made him jump. So Mozart was awake. How was he going to justify grabbing his hand? After hesitating for a few seconds, he decided to talk to him.

“Mozart...”

The composer immediately opened his eyes, a playful grin on his face.

“Good morning, Salieri.”

“I um… I’d like to have my hand back.”

Mozart looked at their hands, innocently.

“And how did your hand end up in mine?”

His grin widened when he saw how red Salieri was turning. Had the time come to have that conversation about their feelings? Before he could think of an answer, Mozart spoke again.

“Your feelings are written all across your face, mon ami.”

Again, Salieri felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Mozart was still holding his hand, and he didn’t know how to justify his hand being there, unless he just opened his heart to him, which he wasn’t ready for. Seeing Salieri not answering, Mozart’s tone went from playful to concerned.

“You look terrified, Salieri. If I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop right away.”

He relaxed his hand, giving Salieri the choice to take his hand back. Salieri sighed.

“I am terrified. But please, don’t stop.”

Mozart smiled at him again and pressed his hand reassuringly.

“May I come closer?”

The Italian man nodded, and Mozart moved, closing the distance between them. They were only a few centimetres apart and Salieri closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the beautifully intoxicating feeling of Mozart at his side. They were much closer, figuratively and literally, than they had been the night before. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze met Mozart’s, and the composer looked like he had an idea in mind.

“May I ask you a more personal question, Salieri?”

“Go on.”

“What did you think of me, the first time you saw me?”

Salieri closed his eyes, trying to remember precisely that day where Rosenberg and him had been to the rehearsals for the Entführung aus dem Serail, as if it wasn’t something he thought about almost everyday.

“The first time I heard about you, it was nothing good, unfortunately. Rosenberg hated you from the start. I arrived at rehearsals with a few prejudices, and some of them were confirmed that day: conceited, disrespectful and provocative. My biggest mistake was to stop there, and not try to know you better. I was shocked that day, but I have to admit: I loved seeing you make fun of Rosenberg.”

Mozart laughed, and Salieri went on.

“You have no idea how many times I wished I could have stood up to him… And when he was gone, and the music started…”

He sighed.

“It’s like my world had turned upside down. The way you conducted, without your sheet music, and yet remembering every note and every detail, especially for the aria you rehearsed that day…”

The memory alone was enough to send shivers down his spine.

“I was fascinated by your music, Mozart. You redefined beauty and perfection, and I haven’t been able to reach them since I heard you play.”

Mozart was staring at him, amazed, clearly not prepared for such an honest answer.

“These feelings of appreciation mixed with the prejudices I had of you, and I didn’t know what to do with myself. Selfishly, I chose to keep hating you, so that I wouldn’t have to apologize. I regret it everyday. But you have to know that since that day, my hatred was only pretend. I admire you immensely, your music, the ease with which you compose, and the way you don’t care about people who don’t like you. I envy you a lot for that last one.”

Both surprised by the length of Salieri’s answer, they remained silent for a while. Salieri had been scared to answer, but getting these feelings off his chest had done him a lot of good. Obviously, he had kept hidden the fact that he had found Mozart charming, with his messy hair and the teasing look in his eyes, and even if they were laying in a bed together holding hands, he wanted to keep that thought for himself. Mozart finally answered.

“Your honesty touches me, Salieri, and I really appreciate knowing that I was right to think you didn’t hate me. Constance often told me to give up, that it was no use, but look where I am now.”

Hearing Constance’s name raised questions in Salieri’s brain again, and he decided to ask them.

“May I ask about your relationship with Mademoiselle Weber? How did she know where to find you last night?”

Mozart smiled sheepishly.

“If I answer honestly, do you promise to not be mad at me?”

Salieri gave him a confused look.

“Promise!”

“Fine, I promise!”

Satisfied with Salieri’s answer, Mozart began his tale.

“Constance is one of my closest friends. We had a romantic relationship but it didn’t last long, as I noticed I was in love with someone else. Being the great person she is, she decided to help me woo that person.”

Mozart paused and looked at Salieri, and then at their intertwined hands.

“The truth is… I wasn’t kicked out of the inn.”

Salieri furrowed his brow, feeling confused.

“This whole story was part of a scheme that was meant to get us closer.”

Mozart had lowered his eyes, and avoided Salieri’s gaze.

“If you hadn’t taken me in last night, I would have gone back to the inn. That’s why Constance knew where I was. You were the only person on my list, Salieri.”

Salieri was being attacked by hundreds of different thoughts. Mozart had lied to him. To get closer to him. Did Mozart love him? He shook his head.

“You came up with a plan… to get closer to me?”

“Yes, I did. But I didn’t think this was how the night was going to unfold, and I didn’t think I’d end up in your bed the first night.”

Mozart laughed, and Salieri couldn’t help but smile as well.

“One last question, Mozart: why?”

The composer sighed, pretending to be annoyed.

“You still haven’t caught on, Salieri?”

He paused.

“You’re that other person I love.”

That sentence finished destroying Salieri’s doubts. He was speechless, caught in a whirlpool of emotions, until he heard Mozart’s voice again.

“Antonio Salieri, may I kiss you?”

Instead of answering with words, Salieri pulled him closer and kissed him. He was _finally_ kissing Mozart, and he could feel all his doubts and anxieties slowly being replaced by joy, which only grew when Mozart grinned against his lips, before placing his hands on his cheeks and on the back of his neck to bring them even closer together. When their lips finally parted, Salieri noticed the tears on his cheeks. Mozart saw them too and immediately teased him.

“Was I _that_ bad?”

Salieri laughed, a sincere laugh, his first in a long time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had let his joy out like that, or even the last time he had a reason to. Surprised to finally hear the sound of his laughter, Mozart joined him, and both men let their feelings out in a well-deserved laugh, which didn’t help Salieri’s tears.

“They’re tears of relief, Mozart.” He wiped his eyes, still smiling. “You have no idea for how long I’ve wanted this, but then felt guilty every time I saw you. I didn’t know what to do, it felt as if every word or gesture could betray my feelings.”

Mozart looked at him, obviously very emotional himself.

“From now on, no need to be careful with me. I want to know the real you, Salieri, I want to know what you’re feeling, and I want to be at your side. I want to be able to do this (he kissed him again) as much as I want.”

Salieri, still teary-eyed, looked at him fondly.

“Nothing could make me happier, Mozart.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact : trying to pick a song for the title was probably the hardest part of this whole fic. (it's from 'debout les fous', if you were wondering)  
> also i have a confession i might be a little bit in love with florent mothe but then again, aren't we all.  
> thanks for reading if you made it this far!!


End file.
